Memoirs of a Soldier
by AnnaRinzler
Summary: Addie's thoughts about Slade


I still miss him, you know. I suppose we weren't missd to be, even after the years we spent together, the times we'd said " I love you" to each other.It was my fault, really. I was the one who wanted a divorce. I was the one who confronted him with a gun. And I was the one who told him that I _didn't_ love him anymore. Funny thing, though: He never replied.

He was my student. I use the word lightly, because of the image it brings to mind. You see, I joined the army two years before him; therefore, I showed him the ropes, helped train him to be one of us. But I quickly learned he was my equal in more ways than one. Guns, knives, combat training, you name it. And in some ways he surpassed me. His intelligence. That was what drew me to him like a moth to the fire. He had a depth to him, a knowing, and when I looked into his deep blue eyes I could see a glint of what might be called wisdom there, too.

We were alike in other things as well. Neither spoke of our past; it was too painful. Neither spoke of the future; it was too uncertain. Neither knew how to love; it was too hurtful.

I remember quite clearly the day I realized I loved him. We were sparring in a training area, alone. He was showing me an extremely complicated martial arts form. He kicked me, but my block came too late so I hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, dazed. I remember looking up and seeing those blue eyes filled with worry that he had hurt me, remember him pulling me to him; remember a first fiery kiss that never seemed to end.

The army was our lives at first. We gave ourselves to it, serving America. I don't think we cared who we fought for, as long we had a cause we could put our "talents" to use in. We were the elite. I can remember it, remember people who knew what we were looking at us with awe. It was a hard life. We traveled constantly, doing whatever job our superiors handed us.

And then something changd. He was needed to do a testing of something confidential, a truth serum, as the rumor goes. I wasn't supposed to know. It left him weakened, and for a time I wasn;t sure if he would live or die.

But he recovered. And when he recovered, he was changed. His hair was white from the chemicals. His reflexes, always excellent, became phenomenal. And he was so powerful he seriously injured more people than one when he trained.

He got a new job,too. When we were marrid, we quietly left the army, so now...he took contracts. You know the kind I mean. These changed him somehow. I despaired over this, even more than I did over the chemicals. He became harder. More cold, more calculating. More, more more. And when his refusal to hand over information with our son as a _hostage_ on the other end almost got them both killed, I truly wondered if this was the man I had fallen in love with.

No, I did more than wonder. I came at him with a gun, damn me forever. His back was turned when I did it, that was what killed me. I was angry, horribly angry, and he trusted me. He trusted me not to pull the trigger on him. He trusted me, loved me enough to know that I wouldn't.

But I did. He didn't die, far from it. He turned at the last second, so the bullet destroyed his right eye but nothing else. I took our sons and left him. That's it. I left.

ANd now every time I pick up a newspaper, I see him. I see headlines screaming that he is a "madman," a "psycopath." But he isn't. He's brilliant. Ingenious. Everything he does is wrong, but does it matter to me? No. I try to keep up with him, but all I have now is the news and tabloids, a disheartening fact since we used to sleep in the same _bed_ together. I aknow he keeps tabs on me. I can sense him, sometimes, if I am walking alone at night. But when I turn, no one is there.

Thinking back, I think..._I know _I still love him. What I did rips me apart every day. My conscious cannot even be comforted by the thought that it is, after all, mostly his fault.

I cannot dwell on the past. I won't. From now on, I am looking forward. I have my new job to think about, after all. And " Addie Wilson, Headmistres of H.I.V.E. Academy" has a nice ring to it.


End file.
